


I wonder why (I didn't see it there before?)

by wavesketcher



Series: Something There [2]
Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-03-06 10:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18849391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wavesketcher/pseuds/wavesketcher
Summary: **Sequel to 'Something There (that wasn't there before?)** Spanning the months and years following their admittance, how will Damon and Bonnie navigate being in love?





	1. One Month

**A/N: Welcome back! Hello again, to all you wonderful readers. If you haven’t read the previous fic ‘Something There (that wasn’t there before?)’, please do. It will definitely enrich this story.**

 

 One Month

 

“Ass.”

“Don’t expect special privileges just because you’re my _girlfriend_ , Bon-bon.”

She speaks to his smirk, “Then don’t expect _me_ to stop calling you ass.”

Damon folds an arm around her waist to pull her against his chest. He leaves a kiss in her hair and whispers, “Have I ever told you that I love you?”

And Bonnie’s smile, reflexive and playful, twitches. “Took you long enough.”

They’re sitting on the floor, against the coach, the vampire’s conquered monopoly board at their feet _because somethings never change_. A week ago, she’d stood in the Boarding House drive-way and listened to Damon Salvatore tell her she’s sexy, smart, magical, and completely in-love. Then, he’d poured into her, and Bonnie to him, daring, _insatiable_. Bonnie screamed as he picked her up, dizzy with the kiss and laughing at _them_ , their infuriating timeline.

“Stop laughing, you’re ruining the moment,” Damon hissed but his mouth betrayed him, stretching his lips in a grin. He pushed the front door open with his foot, the hallway dark and silent.

“I’m sorry, am I ruining your James Bond-esque fantasy?”

The skin around his eyes folded as he smirked, his eyes trailing over her frame. Bonnie shivered, her laughter dissolved, and the vampire licked his lips, as if tasting her proliferated heart-rate. _He really did know how to do sexy._ “That depends, Miss Bennett,” he breathed; his words curled around her neck.

“Damon-”

His motion cut her short, releasing her from the air. She fell back against the door, staring up at him in a fevered anticipation. She blinked and he was capturing her; an intensity they hadn’t shared before, not like this. This was like _fire_ and her magic burned with it, collecting to a crescendo. Damon’s right hand was on the door, the other steering her into his kiss. She slid up his neck, taking his hair in her fingers and the moan that fell on to her lips sent a tremor to her core. The vampire lunged forward, his arms tensing with the upheaval as he held her up, suspended, against the wood. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced, wild and made electric by her magic, Damon’s strength. He dropped her lips and she gasped, inhaling air that wasn’t him, as he kissed her neck, her collar bone, below. Bonnie closed her eyes, her fingers coiling in his hair, teasing him further.

“You’re glowing,” he whispered and Bonnie stilled. Damon drew up to study her, the blue of his eyes sharp and raw with… _desire_. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

“It’s the magic,” she replied and Damon touched a finger to her lips, drawing a line so slow it held her breath captive.

“ _You’re_ magic.”

The vampire prods her cheek, peeling Bonnie away from the memory. “Your heart is racing.” She doesn’t respond and Damon curves his neck to study her, a smirk teasing. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not,” she replies but her gaze twists to the front-door and Damon chuckles.

“Ah. That.” He flirts with her hair, long fingers flicking and turning the strands, “You know, Bon-bon. We could,” his fingers creep up her neck, arching upwards and fluttering her eyes close, “re-create that night.”

It takes all her effort to pull away. Damon is proving to be intoxicating, even more so now he’s available, no objections, completely _devoted_ to her. “I can’t. I’ve got to meet Caroline.”

He flops his head on the cushions with a groan. Bonnie rolls her eyes, “Needy.”

Damon pouts, “It’s not my fault you don’t want to move in.”

“We’ve been together a _week_ Damon.”

The vampire raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “And we’ve been in loveeeee for so much longer. We were just being stubborn about it.”

Bonnie stands, tugging on her jacket which is, incidentally, stuck under Damon’s ass. He doesn’t move. “You’re forgetting that,” she yanks again, “you were with,” a final yank and it’s released, “Elena that _entire_ time.” Damon doesn’t respond and Bonnie sighs, “She’s still my friend Damon, and I know you still care about her. I can’t just move in here and take her place. Not yet.”

“We lived together in the prison world,” he grumbles and sometimes (a lot of the time) he really is just difficult for the sake of it.

“I’ll call you later,” she says instead, leaning towards him for a kiss goodbye but _of course_ , her boyfriend has pressed his lips shut in a very unresponsive line.

And yet, as she turns the handle, he’s there, vamp-speed, one hand on the door to keep it closed.

“Damon, I’m not a prisoner-” Bonnie sighs but he cuts her sentence, a habit he seems to have assumed, and steals her mouth.

_Well, then._

* * *

Damon’s pathetic when he’s in love. He’s well aware. He goes from vampire to wow-look-at-the-moon-and-are-those-geraniums? in an instant; like a humanity switch, the world turns on. Even his blood-lust lessens, manifesting in a different, Bonnie Bennet sized form. The thing with Bonnie, is that she doesn’t _need_ him, she just wants him, and sometimes, that’s a difficult concept for him to understand. He’s used to being needed by women. Like Katherine, even Elena, it’s the only kind of love he’d known – obsessive. Maybe that’s why Bon-bon had crept up on him? With all her laughs and butterflies, banter and eye-rolls…. They built and built until suddenly (not to Stefan’s surprise), he’s fucking love-drunk.

Most of the time, he’s debating whether to make her laugh or moan – and he’s been known to do both at once - but Bonnie doesn’t _need_ him, she loves him, but he’s not her survival, and he’s learning, after over a century and a half, that the latter makes a healthy relationship.

Damon tips the scotch down his throat and sighs. He’s trying, he really is. He resists the urge to text her, call her, and he’s _trying_ not to care that she won’t move in yet… even when it tears him up, climbing into an empty bed when the woman he loves is in another. The witch is on his mind 24/7, it’s an exercise in restraint not to jump in his Camaro and steal her from her dorm-room. _Being a witch, she’d probably do the exploding brain thing._

He’d confided in Stefan the other night. His brother was back from another three-day stint at Whitmore and was cleaning the kitchen, _clearly_ Carolinized.

“It’s been three weeks,” Damon scowled. “How long is it going to take?”

“She’s not just going to drop everything, Damon,” Stefan replied, swiping his cloth across the counter-top. “She’s at college. Plenty of people go to college with relationships at home.”

“Yes, but it’s _us_ , Stefan. The epic romance. Haters, friends, lovers. You know the drill.”

“And? Does that mean Bonnie’s not allowed her own life?”

 _Alright, Mr Feminist._ Damon glared at his brother’s back, “I never said that.”

“You’re forgetting, I’ve seen you be in love three times. Katherine, Elena and now Bonnie. Does this time feel different?”

“You know it does.”

“Well, there’s your answer.”

“Have I told you that you’re annoyingly righteous?”

Stefan grinned, “Just a few times.”

And so, according to his relationship-guru brother, this was _good_. Unfortunately, good felt a lot like _utter shit_. Bonnie spends weekends with him, Friday afternoon to Monday morning and then a couple of evenings a week, he’ll drive to Whitmore… unannounced. He’ll kiss her before she can protest and the laugh that tumbles into his mouth sends the butterflies into chaos (because nope, they don’t go). He’s a text-book romantic – picnics, making out in the rain, hand holding, he’s accepted he’s John Green _trash_ now, and, of course, expert seduction. He did all these things with Elena but with Bonnie, they’re made alive.

He’ll open a box of strawberries and she’ll roll her eyes, call him a cliché, but snatch the fruit out of his hand anyway and complain they’re not chocolate covered. She’ll erupt in laughter at his sexy-talk and other times, bite her lip, her heart, skin, _everything_ , pulsing in longing. And she’ll get angry, hands on her hips, fixing him with a glare when they’re bickering crosses a line. He’s learning to apologise, in his Damon-way, and her eyes will soften, a silly smile swinging across her face and sometimes he’ll kiss it away, sometimes he’ll make a joke to push it into a grin.

His phone pings and it’s Bonnie.

_There’s a party tonight and I’d really like my boyfriend there._

And the butterflies go crazy. _Fucking thirteen-year old._

**Better ask your boyfriend then.**

_You’re such a dad._

He begins to reply when Bonnie messages again:

_Don’t respond to that._

**Wouldn’t dream of it. What time do you want your sexy boyfriend to arrive?**

_Arrogance will get old one day, Damon._

**Vampire, Bon-bon. Not happening. Time?**

_Come for 9. Love you._

**And I love it when you say that.**

_;)_

Damon blows the hair on his forehead. _This woman is going to be the death of me._

* * *

“I’m surprised you invited him,” Caroline’s voice comes from inside the closet, “it being a frat party and everything.”

Bonnie applies another coat of black to her nails. “Why wouldn’t invite my boyfriend to a party?”

The blonde leans out the closet, her arms full of potential dresses. “Um because it’s _Damon_ , and he was possessive even _before_ you were together.”

“Hmm.”

At this, Caroline darts towards her and _shit_ , she’ll never get used to the sudden movement. “Bonnie Bennett, do you _want_ him to be possessive?” The blonde’s eyes sparkle, “You like it, don’t you?”

_Yes, and I’m a terrible person._

 “I just… ugh he’s really hot when he gets all protective,” she turns back to her nails, “I’m not proud of it.”

Caroline laughs. “To be honest, after all he put you through, I get it. And that does sound pretty hot.”

She scrunches her nose up in thought and Bonnie points a finger, “Don’t you think about doing that to poor Stefan. He can’t handle it.”

“Fineeeee. Now choose your weapon.” She thrusts two dresses up in the air, “Black, or red?”

…

At 8: 45 Damon knocks, impatiently as always.

“Does he always have to knock so freaking loud?” In the mirror, Caroline winces. She’s lining her eyes in kohl, her hair loose and tousled.

“Heard that,” drawls the vampire behind the door and Bonnie opens it before her friend can retort.

His eyes perform a kind of dance, indulging in her dress, she went for the red, and igniting a simmering flame under her skin. “Damn.”

“If you’re going to make out, can you take it outside?” Caroline quips.

Bonnie looks away from the vampire in the doorframe, tempting a heat. “We’re not, don’t worry.”

“We’re not?”

Her mouth flinches with a smile and she tugs on his shirt sleeve, black, _of course_ , pulling him into the dorm. “Where’s Stefan?”

“Picking up booze.” Damon nods in Caroline’s direction, “Looking good, Blondie.” He jumps on Bonnie’s bed, legs crossed, an arm behind his head, surveying the scene and yes, Bonnie too thinks _damn_.

It’s still a surreal feeling – touching him, holding his hand, kissing him. The vampire she’d fallen in love with, silently, unwittingly, now hers to love without shame. Almost. The guilt of Elena still bubbled sometimes.

“So,” Damon sighs, “What wonderful college party do we have the pleasure of gracing tonight?”

Caroline glances at Bonnie in the mirror, her mouth quirked. “It’s at a frat.”

Her boyfriend’s eyebrows rise so high, they almost disappear and Bonnie has to swallow her smirk. “A frat!? We’re going to some horny football players trash house?”

“Soccer actually,” Caroline corrects him and Damon’s mouth drops open.

“That’s worse! Wanna be Europeans.”

Bonnie makes the mistake of catching the blonde’s eye and Damon is scowling, ready to protest, when Stefan pushes open the door, holding a bottle of whiskey under one arm, and gin under the other, his brow raised. “What’s this about Europeans?”

* * *

His hand tightens around Bonnie’s, as they cross the threshold (luckily it was the owner who opened the door). He’s right, the house _is_ trash, and reeks of weed and entitled, sweaty college boys.

“I didn’t drink enough bourbon for this,” he whispers into his girlfriend’s ear.

Bonnie prods him in the torso. “Don’t be grumpy. It’ll be fun.”

They’re greeted by some obnoxious whoops and hollers and Damon stiffens. _This is going to be a long night._ He’s all down for parties, especially parties with Bonnie and her dangerously sexy dance moves, but _frat_ parties - a red cup is shoved under his nose, cheap beer, _duh_ – they are easily one the worst things about America.

“Bonnie!”

Damon glares at the dude engulfing the witch in a hug, even more so when she hugs him back. They pull away and he clears his throat, asserting his presence to _whoever the fuck_ this soccer player was.

“Dylan, this is Damon.”

Dylan looks at Damon with narrowed eyes and he remembers why he looks so familiar, in more than just the typical-frat-boy way. He’s the ‘just a friend’ from the day he came to Whitmore, the day Damon kissed her up that tree, the day he fucked up.

“You’re the guy that…” he glances at their entwinned hands in surprise and Damon relishes in the small victory, not that there’s any competition with a frat boy _really_.

“Boyfriend,” he smiles, icy and petty but when has he ever been anything but?

“I’ll catch you later, Dylan,” Bonnie says tightly, and yanks on his arm.

Damon rolls his eyes. “You can’t seriously be pissed with me, Bon.”

And then she kisses him, sudden and hungry. Damon’s so surprised, he stumbles back. _Very un-Bonnie like._

She pulls away, a little breathless, embarrassed. “Sorry I-”

He lifts an eyebrow, “You don’t ever need to be sorry for doing _that,_ Witchy.”

Bonnie runs a hand through her hair and she really does look _incredibly_ sexy in red. “Let’s go dance.”

“Happily.”

The couches in the living room are pushed back, creating a space for dancing, well, grinding. The college lads and lasses are not exactly at cotillion. He smirks at Stefan’s pathetic attempt and is about to let him know how ridiculous he looks when Bonnie knots her hand in his, and, without breaking eye contact, snakes to the ground and back up again. _Oh._

“You wanna play _that_ game,” Damon smirks. “Don’t you remember what happened last time, Bon-bon?” She still hasn’t admitted it, even now, how affected she was by his dancing at Stefan’s birthday.

Bonnie smirks back. “ _Please_ , I was being reserved.”

He lifts his arm and she spins, pulling flush against him with a laugh that melts under the song and into his chest. They blend together, the vampire and the witch, twisting with the beat. Damon traces his girlfriend’s hips, resisting her exposed neck, even with Mr Soccer-Dick Dylan eyeing them from across the room.

Bonnie unravels from his chest, throwing her hands in the air to dance alone and he grins, the witch consuming his gaze. That is, until, his vamp-hearing catches a mumble. It sets his blood on fire and he pivots, stalking towards three guys by a keg-stand.

“Your girlfriend’s a good little dancer,” the tallest one laughs, lifting his beer as if to cheers.

Damon fights the impulse to rip his head off. “I heard what you said.”

The tallest laughs to his friends, “And what did I say?”

He takes a step forward, fingers curled into fists to keep them from pinning the dick against the wall. Capturing the guys eyes in his, he speaks clearly, compelling, “You will never speak about a woman like that, again. Do you understand?”

“I will never speak about a woman like that again,” the man parrots and Damon nods, satisfied. Almost. “Now, pour the beer over your head.”

He turns, back towards his girlfriend, eager to join her swishing to Sean Paul, but stops. _Fucking Dylan._ The dude has slunk onto the dance floor in all his slimy glory, and – Damon’s jaw clenches – has the _audacity_ to take her hand and spin her around. Bonnie glances at him, he catches it, then back to the dude, a flirtatious smile in her mouth. _Seriously!?_

Damon inhales, enraged.  Boyfriend or not, he isn’t just going to stand here and look like a fool. _If Bonnie wants Saggy Soccer Balls, she can have him. He has worse rhythm than Stefan._ He pushes through the corridor, needing air unpolluted by the stench of frat boy arousal. He feels a hand touch his arm, and he turns, half-expecting it to be Bonnie, but he’s met with brown eyes, not green. The girl lifts her lashes, almost Elena like – pretty, brunette and not the witch.

“Not interested, sorry.”

She bites her lip, clearly ready to use every trick in the book (a book _he_ wrote). “Shame. You’re easily the hottest guy here.”

Damon almost laughs. “I know.”

* * *

Her plan-backfired. Karma, _obviously_. Damon didn’t just get jealous, he got mad or sad, possibly both, and Bonnie feels awful. _What a dick._ One minute they were dancing and the next, he disappeared and Dylan was there, complimenting her dress. When she turned, Damon was watching and it was too tempting… even his glare made her shiver.

“Care, have you seen Damon?”

The blonde pulls back from Stefan with a giggle, her lipstick smudged. “Nope. I’m surprised he left you alone.”

Bonnie sighs, edging past dancing couples and frat boy leers, intent on finding her boyfriend. She’d hurt him; the thought makes her nauseous. Having left her phone in his pocket, Bonnie resorts to asking around. Mainly the girls, as someone like _Damon_ doesn’t walk into a room (or out of it) unnoticed.

“The sexy guy? That’s your boyfriend? Wow. Lucky you.”

Bonnie smiles, her patience thinning with every response. _Yes, Damon is hot as hell and yes, he is my boyfriend and no, I can’t find him._

“You’re looking for Damon, right?” Dylan has his arms folded, unimpressed. “You know, it’s kind of a dickish thing to do, leaving you at a party.”

She ignores the comment. “Do you know where he is?”

Dylan sighs. “He’s in the front yard.” Bonnie nods, relieved and he grabs her arm. “Bonnie, wait, be careful. I just don’t trust him.”

“Noted.” And she yanks away from him.

…

Outside is dark and heavy with the scent of weed and cigarettes but sure enough, brooding on a wall, is Damon Salvatore. Bonnie swallows. “Hey, stranger.” He doesn’t respond. She leaps up beside him and slips her fingers between his, squeezing gently. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“Damon, I-”

“Am I joke to you?”

“What?”

He still hasn’t looked at her, his eyes sharp around some point on the horizon. “You heard me.”

“Damon, with Dylan, I was just being selfish and-”

“It’s not just about Dylan.”

“Then…?” she pauses, “Oh. It’s about the house again, isn’t it?”

And again, he doesn’t respond. Bonnie closes her eyes, her mouth stumbling over the words, “I just… I think we should take it slow.”

Damon snaps his gaze to hers, fierce and indignant. “I don’t understand. We’re in love,” he pales, tentative, “At least, I thought we were.”

“We are,” Bonnie runs her thumb over his hand. _You idiot._ “It’s _because_ I love you that I don’t want to rush anything. We’ve… we’ve got the rest of our lives.” She speaks that last part with uncertainty; Damon is enough for her but will she always be enough for him? It pains her, to entertain a world where Damon Salvatore isn’t her centre.

“Bonnie, I’ve known you for six years… six years where I could have had _this_ ,” he lifts their joined hands for emphasis.

“You would have given up Elena for me?”

“Yes. Anything.”

“Bullshit.”

Damon blinks, startled and Bonnie lifts her eyes to the sky, a smile in her words.  “We both know what makes our relationship work is the build-up. Me trying to kill you, you being a dick –”

“The banter,” the vampire interrupts, a smile forming too, “the prison world, you falling in love with my pancakes first –”

“Drunk flirting –”

“How could I forget Derek the sexy vampire?”

“That _horrible_ double date.”

“We’re quite angsty, aren’t we Bon-bon?”

He untangles from her hand, touching a finger to her cheek, her nose, her lips. They part beneath the contact, instinctive. “1864 Damon,” she breathes, “Mr Salvatore.”

“Hmm,” he hums, “Corset Bonnie.”

She pulls away, brow raised. “Is that all you think about?”

Damon shakes his head, _the liar_. “No. But finding my girlfriend attractive is hardly a crime, is it?”

And it’s the same smirk he’s had for years, all six of them, teasing her, infuriating her, except now, she can kiss it.

 

**A/N: Ahh I so hope this satisfied! New chapter will be coming soon… I’m excited. Please do review and follow me on tumblr: perpetualimaginings.**

**Also, I want to ask what your opinion would be on a chapter or segment of a chapter from Elena’s POV? Just one, don’t worry, but it could be interesting to explore… Let me know!**

**P.S. I listened to the Beauty and The Beast song ‘Something There’ to find the title for this fic and omggg the lyrics fit so well with Bamon *cries*.**


	2. Two Months

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back! It’s taken me a long while to find inspiration for this story but Swarmy’s fics have made me want to get typing again. If I can achieve half of what they manage to, I’m doing something right. 
> 
> Pre-warning: The later section is in Elena’s POV but I really hope you still give it a read. She might surprise you.

Two Months

 She’s left a toothbrush, - it’s purple and keeps his company in a ceramic pot Elena bought last year - jogging bottoms, hell, even some _panties_ , but Bonnie’s still only a drawer in his too big house and every Monday morning he dreads the shock of her pulling away and driving back home. He knows why, or, he’s been told why, yet all he feels as she kisses him goodbye for God knows how long, is her imminent absence. 

He needs a hobby. Women can’t be hobbies. Well, he thinks wryly, they can - they have for years and years, but love - but _Bonnie_ \- isn’t a hobby, he understands that at least.

“Damon, it’s creepy you just standing here not saying anything.”

“Maybe I’m enjoying the sound of water caressing your skin?”

The witch pokes her head out from behind the curtain. “Maybe I’m going to vomit?”

_Savage._

Damon draws his bare toe over the marbled floor, swirling the rejected droplets of Bonnie’s shower in circles. “What are we doing today, Bon-bon?” he asks and can’t help but wince in the flicker of silence - the space where she could say, _I’m going to go back home for a bit_.... and he’ll have to smile like that’s totally, completely, fine. 

The rush of water cuts out. “Surprise me, Mr Romantic.”

His grin eats his whole face. “Mr Romantic? Thought I was Drama Queen or-”

“Shh,” she eye-rolls (not that he can _see_ that, but a lot of what Bonnie Bennett says is accompanied by an eye-roll so it’s reasonable to assume), “And close your eyes.”

He protests with little effort. He knows that _she_ knows, he’ll be peeking anyway. Through the triangle cuts of his fingers are the curves of her skin, all mocha and soft, glistened from the shower, and she tilts her head, pouting at his indiscretion. Damon peels his hands away to candidly roam over her body, and frown at her pulling on the towel, tucking it all away. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” she huffs.

He arches a brow, “Like what?”

“You know like what.”

Her hair is folded under that hideous pink hair net thing and, with irritation puckering on her lips, she is at once adorable and _incredibly_ hot. Damon leans back against the bathroom door. His vamp-senses twitch with the drum of her heartbeat as Bonnie’s chest swells and deflates with increasing effort; her next words melt with the tongue she’s just swung across her bottom lip, and he _knows_  that look. Damon Salvatore is ready. 

But… she clenches her fist around the towel and marches up to him, nudging his weight with her shoulder, free hand on the knob of the door (and not the one in his pants, most upsettingly.) 

“Move, please.”

“Seriously!?”

His girlfriend glares up at him. She’s so tiny in that towel; he battles the urge to fling her over his shoulder and carry her to bed. That wouldn’t end well. 

“I need to get dressed and _you_ ,” she jabs a finger in his chest, “need to plan a rom-com worthy date.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re insanely bossy?”

Bonnie pushes at him again, “Plenty of times” and, because she’s _evil_ adds, “Especially in the bedroom.” She cackles like the witch she is, amused at his arousal, and yanks open the bathroom door, her pin-sized pink head bobbing as she laughs. 

_Always keeping me on my toes, Bon-bon._

***

Stefan calls 10 minutes later. He ignores it, scrolling through Pinterest date ideas, because even the skilled need inspiration every now and then. There’s a waterfall not too far out, they could pick up some bread and cheese, all cute and French, and go skinny dipping in the water. Bonnie will probably protest to the latter but it’ll be worth a try.  Stefan, however, is persistent. On the fourth ring, Damon shoves the phone to his ear and growls, “ _What_.”

His eyes round, his mouth unhooks from its frown, and a date with Bonnie is quickly rendered impractical.

* * *

Her boyfriend is silent and it’s unnerving. Usually, the repertoire of getting changed after her shower involves the vampire’s yapping: making lewd comments, garnering for scraps of her attention like a puppy. She’s been known to close the door on his _cavernous_ walk-in-wardrobe just for a couple minutes peace, which, even then, the teasing hum of his voice sing-songs. By now, she’s convinced he’s actually turned on by her irritation, and that puts a _whole_ different perspective to their previous best friendship. 

Bonnie tugs on the hem of her jeans and wriggles the waist-band over her ass. “Damon? You still there?” (Because _maybe_ his running commentary has become a kind of comfort, an acceptance - she gets dressed, there’s his voice; Damon speaks, Bonnie eye-rolls.)

 She pulls on a yellow vest-top and calls for him again. No reply. Exiting the closet, she half-expects to see him posing naked with a fig leaf dangling from his lips, like he had one morning, the egotist, but he bedroom’s empty.

“Damon?” Bonnie angles her head around the door frame and into the corridor. “Daaaamoooon.”

His study door is ajar, a bluish hue pouring onto the parquet floor of the Boarding House’s upper landing. Bonnie taps thrice on the wood before nudging it further open. The vampire is at the desk, back to the door, neck stiff, facing the garden. “You okay?”

“We’re in deep-shit, Bon-bon.” She’s waits for him to continue, bracing for his usual theatrics. Damon twists his head, “Hope you’re ready to meet the parents.”

Fighting against the eye-roll, she touches a hand to his lower neck, flirting with the longer strands of wisping hair she’s forbidden the barber to trim. “What do you mean, ‘the parents’”?

Damon’s shiver at her fingers is instinctual. “My parents.”

“Your _dead_ parents. Lovely.”

“Until fifteen minutes ago, I thought the same,” he curls his tongue, “It seems Mama Salvatore has resurrected… with a small army.”

Bonnie lifts her hand. “Is this a joke?”

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” His sarcasm isn’t tinged with its familiar flirtation – it’s bitter and Bonnie tenses.

“Explain. Now.”

He folds his hand around hers, carrying it from his neck and into his lap, tracing his thumb over her palm to say _it’s okay, we get through this kind of stuff, it’s easy now_ but she can’t help but glare at him, like it’s his fault. They’re happy now. Can’t she just be happy?

Damon repeats Stefan’s message. Bonnie _tries_ to make sense of the details, she really does, but all that sticks is danger, destruction and how she’s going to have to be the one to save them all.

“She’s got these weird witchpire things called Heretics. Half-vamp, half-witch, basically.  Stefan reckons there are about six of them – mostly girls, couple of boys. Nothing we can’t take.” Damon says that last bit with a wonky grin, like he’s so full of hope for her and her abilities, like he doesn’t know how tired she is of having to _take_ anyone but her own human baggage.

“The gang’s coming over,” he continues, “Even Matt, pointless but nice sentiment. They’ll be here soon.” He squeezes her fingers together, “Elena’s coming.”

Bonnie responds without hesitation. “Great.”

“Stefan invited her.”

“That’s great.”

“We just need back-up. The more vamps the better-”

“Damon?”

“Yeah?”

“I said that’s great.”

Unsatisfied with her answer, _of course_ , he works his mouth into a protest. Bonnie’s watching a bird spiral across the study window, when the front door unlocks and Damon slams his jaw shut.

* * *

The last time Elena had been in the Boarding House hallway was on route to her car: exiting. She slammed the door and buried her scream behind her hands, releasing only when she was half-way down the freeway. It was several days later she’d understood that in the sound was more than just betrayal – it was release.

Damon was the different choice. And it was logical, in its derangement, to choose him because she, newly un-dead, was different too. They had passion, _excitement_ , his love. Stefan was safety and Damon was flame – she loved Stefan, she loved Damon… and got burned.

It was several days later she understood love wasn’t meant to do that.

She’s surprised, then, at the knot in her stomach, how it scrapes against her chest like a friction burn ( _burn_ , again), at their entwinned hands; the slender thumb that used to caress her palm, now trailing over her oldest friend’s. She discerns Bonnie’s heartbeat, senses the tremor in her hand to put distance between him, embarrassed, ashamed. Damon hears too because his thumb curls, presses against her skin and the other woman’s eyes flutter close, quick as a butterfly wing, _comforted_ , and Elena has to look away.

“Okay, let’s pair off. Damon, you should go with Elen- sorry, um, I’ll go with you. Stefan and Elena, you can pair up.” She flings an awkward smile the brunette’s way. “Bonnie, you sure you’re okay staying and finding the siphoning spell?”

“If there even is one, yeah. I’ll be fine. You guys go.”

Caroline claps her hands together. “Right, that’s settled then. Matt, stay with Bonnie for back-up.” Elena’s vamp-hearing picks up Damon’s snort at the comment, and she hides a smile that feels stale now. She pushes the hair behind her ears and turns to Stefan, her first-love, warm and safe. _How did I lose all this?_

“You ready?”

She nods. “Let’s go.”

***

Mystic Falls is weighed by a stormy oppressiveness – the kind that used to give her headaches. Traipsing through the woods, she almost misses the pang in her temple, the humanity of it all.

“How are you, Elena?”

“I already told you. I’m fine – Jeremy’s doing well. It was good to have a break.” She smiles over the falsity. Her brother is fine, good even, and a break _is_ what she needed but coming back home, to familiarity, to friends, suddenly Elena Gilbert doesn’t _fit_.

Stefan stops walking. “No, I mean, how are you about… them?”

She doesn’t want to stop walking; she doesn’t want to answer this question but it’s Stefan and he’s always been able to unmask the parts she paints over. More than Damon, more than herself.

“I don’t know.”

He leans against a tree, studying her. “It _was_ real. Your love, it was real.”

“Maybe,” her words surprise her, the honesty, “But it wasn’t like that. It was never like that.” And she’s not sure what _that_ is but she knows it’s not the kind of flame that leaves scars, a flame that sparks from… difference. “Do you think they’re right for each other?” Stefan falters and she smiles, a little sad, “I’m not asking for you to say no. I just need to know.”

The vampire speaks to the treetops. “Damon and Bonnie… they’re complicated but… I’ve never seen my brother more human than when he’s with her. It’s not about the blood-drinking or the immortality, it’s just them. They just… fit. Like they’ve always meant to fit,” he stops, alarmed, “Shit, Elena, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

She attacks the tears with cold fingers, Stefan’s concern only making it worse. _It’s me._ She sinks against the tree-trunk, something like a tired laugh in her lips. _It’s me._

“Elena?”

Stefan crouches in front of her; takes her hand. And looking into his eyes, the love she used to fall into, she has to know. “Are you happy?”

His brow flickers in a frown. “Am I happy?” She nods. “With… Caroline?”

“With Caroline.” The blossoming pink of his cheek is enough. She folds her hand over his, their matched iciness, “Good. You deserve to be happy, Stefan.”

It’s only when they stand, her tears dried, their momentum regained, does he tell her: “You will be soon, Elena. Real… in the way that it should be.”

And for a third time, she surprises herself. How simple it all seems. “I think I’m going to try being happy without it.”

Stefan’s smile dimples. “I like that plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry, that was the first and only Elena POV section, I just thought it was important to explore her mentality a little bit. Initially, I was tempted to make her really bitter and try to win Damon back but I like this new ‘I’m going to be happy on my own’ attitude a lot more. Sorry if it felt rushed. She’s still got a lot of apologising to do for how she treated Bonnie, though. 
> 
> If you have/are enjoyed/enjoying any of my Bamon stories, then please consider buying me a coffee over at ko-fi! My username is wavesketcher (or there is a link in my tumblr bio: perpetualimaginings). Absolutely NO pressure – I write for the joy of Bamon (and your reviews hehe). 
> 
> Thoughts are very much welcomed.


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